Give Me a Sign(6)

“Not much . . .” He scrunches up his mouth, probably thinking about his friends and sports that usually occupy the school break.

“Why?” I ask. “Do you want to go to camp?”

This summer was going to be my thing, but I guess it won’t be the end of the world if my brother is there, too. Especially since if he learns sign language, it’ll be easier to use it at home.

“Did you like going there?” he asks. “Or was it like school, where you had to do a lot of learning?”

“Max, it’s fun! There’s a lake and a pool and all sorts of outdoors stuff. I think you’d like it.”

“Cool. I don’t know, maybe. I’ll ask Mom.” He finally leaves and, fortunately, so does the smell.

* * *

I’m home alone Saturday morning, attempting to focus on a particularly tricky ASL lesson about grammatical sentence structure. I have to look busy when my parents get home from Max’s soccer match; otherwise they’ll ask why I’m not studying for finals. But of course, I keep getting sidetracked on social media.

My phone gets a notification right before my parents and Max walk in the door. No way is this what I hope it is . . . It’s an email, and I do a double take when I read who sent it.

[email protected]

Saturday, May 25, 9:46 a.m.

Dear Lilah,

Sorry to be emailing so late! Ethan has nominated you to be a junior counselor this summer, and we’d love to have you on board. Can you be at training on June 1? Campers will be there from Sunday, June 9, through Saturday, July 27, and there’s usually a day of cleaning and counselor celebrations afterward.

There’s a weekly stipend of $250/week, which we know really isn’t much, but obviously room and board are all free. You don’t incur many expenses when enjoying the great outdoors at summer camp!

Let me know.

Gary

Director, Camp Gray Wolf

I have to reread the email several times to get over my surprise. I got the job? I’d almost given up on the possibility. I have to be there in a week—the day after school lets out. Am I ready? I wish I had more time to brush up on my ASL.

“Don’t you need to be studying for finals?” my dad asks, walking over to the couch and glancing at my laptop screen.

“Actually . . .” I say, noticing the skepticism on his face. “Well, yes. I need to study. But—I just got a job for this summer.”

“A job?” my mom calls from the kitchen. “What job? You were supposed to take classes over the break.”

“I don’t want to do those . . .” I look back at the email to confirm once again that it’s real before telling my parents. “Junior counselor at Gray Wolf. It’ll be all of June and July.”

“Hmm . . .” my mom says. It doesn’t seem to be what she expected. But I can tell the wheels are turning in her brain. “That does leave a few weeks in August to prepare for the new school year.”

“Sure, I guess,” I say. A few weeks is better than a whole summer of homework. “So, can I go?”

“Yeah.” My mom gives me a sly look. “And Max did just ask me about maybe going this year, so we’ll send him, now that you can keep an eye on him.”

“Right,” my dad agrees. “We always meant to send him.”

“He does have a busy June,” my mom says. “I wasn’t sure if it would work, but especially with you working there, they’ll probably be open to taking him late.”

Somehow my new job has now become about Max? Whatever, as long as they let me go. “I have to be there next Saturday.”

“That’s fast. But we can make it work.” My mom nods. “Proud of you for finding a job.”

“Yes, great work,” my dad adds. “I’m sure it’ll be a great time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say nonchalantly but filled with so much relief. I get to go be a counselor, hanging out with the college kids. I text my friends to share the excitement.

I’m already starting to feel a little overwhelmed. Sure, I know the sign language alphabet backward and forward, am decent with numbers, and still have a good grasp on camp-related vocabulary—enough to hopefully discuss the lunch menu or the activities schedule or the weather. But I’m not fluent enough to handle complex subjects like dreams and goals or life and love—the type of things I’d probably talk to the other counselors around the campfire about.

But I got the job, so they must think I’m qualified. I just have to put aside the creeping impostor syndrome that has me wondering . . . what if I struggle in the Deaf world as much as I do in the hearing one?

Chapter Four

I’ve never driven this far by myself before, but the three hours to the campgrounds at the Illinois-Wisconsin border are a breeze. My parents were worried about this old Civic making the journey, and reminded me several times that I’ll have to run the car periodically throughout the summer or else I may not be able to get it to start for the way home.

But I don’t worry about any of that as I blare music and bask in the sunshine warming my sleeveless arms.

The GPS tells me it’s only a few more minutes, but it’s nearly impossible to find the small arrival sign in the forest along the country road. In fact, I drive past my destination and have to make a hasty U-turn. I go slow down the long dirt entryway and approach the campsite as my stomach flutters. It’s an unceremonious arrival site, just a patch of gravel and a few parked vehicles. But I know what’s waiting beyond the path through the trees. My nerves dissipate at the sight of Ethan waiting for me.